


Breaking Together

by OwlinAutumn



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Anal Sex, Angsty Schmoop, Best Friends, Bitter David is Bitter, Bobby Dawson is a Pushover, Break Up Aftermath, Emotionally Repressed, Finally Resolving UST, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Lab Rats in Love, M/M, Subliminal Greg Sanders/Henry Andrews, all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-21
Updated: 2006-12-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlinAutumn/pseuds/OwlinAutumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breaking up is difficult. But comfort can sometimes be found surprisingly close to home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaygoose](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jaygoose).



Breaking up can be the hardest thing for anybody. When you thought it was real, when you thought it was the one thing in your life that was really worth anything. It used to be what you got out of bed for and one day … it just wasn’t there. Especially when you had never truly felt like that about anyone before in your entire life.

And yet, here he was, David Hodges, and somehow still whole in body, even though he felt empty. Like a piece of his heart was missing. Work didn’t hold much pleasure for him anymore – especially since, half the time, he seemed to be dodging or being avoided by the selfsame ex-lover. Of course, he expected that Greg was hardly feeling the sting. How could you feel the pain of trading in the old worn-out car with the faded interior and the dings in the fender when you had a bright, shiny new one without all the miles or the complaints of the old, even if you do have to reprogram the radio?

Luckily for him, Greg and Henry kept it out of his face, not cuddling in the break room or making out behind the lockers or anything like that. Hell, David half expected it, seeing as it was fucking Henry Andrews. That little bastard. Somehow, in a matter of little more than a year, he’d managed to take away his best friend, then break his heart, steal _his own_ boyfriend away and leave him brokenhearted. Well, damn it all, both he and Bobby were better off. Even if it meant Bobby had this strange, far-away look on his face now, and, when he wasn’t looking pissed, David just felt … cold.

Still, again, here he was. Sitting, alone, at his table, nursing a glass … oh, who was he kidding … A whole _bottle_ of red wine and reminiscing. He’d made dinner, and it was just sitting there, getting cold. Because the only thing he seemed to be able to stomach was the wine. If you called it stomaching, he supposed, sitting there and thinking about things that were bittersweet. Nursing not only the alcohol but also his wounds. Remembering the time he had held Greg when he’d been sad in the very chair he sat in, or when they had talked about their lives while making sushi in the kitchen, that night that they had eaten a whole bowl of noodles and just cuddled on the couch, or the time he’d pressed Greg up against the front door, both of them drunk, and just screwed his brains out, followed by the bed and in the bathroom … Or every single time he’d …

_Damn._

Not only was his reverie rather disturbing and painful, but now it was getting disrupted by a goddamn knock on the door.

He moved, setting his glass down next to his empty plates, and went to get it. Hopefully it was zombies come to eat his brains and not Greg come to pick up something he’d left behind, because, really, to David, the former would be so much more enjoyable. Therefore, when he swung the door open to find Bobby Dawson, looking pale but smiling, even if it did look a little strained, he simply sighed in resignation and left it open, turning to go back to the table.

“Hello, Robert,” He said belatedly, slumping back down into his seat, in front of the cooling spaghetti and sauce, the hardening bread, and the wilting lettuce. 

“Hi, Dave.” Bobby walked in hesitantly, closing the door behind him before crossing to sit down at the table. He motioned at the spread, looking slightly concerned, “You havin’ someone over for dinner? I don’t wanna interrupt anythin’.”

“No,” David replied shortly. The truth of it was, he was so used to making portions for two, he hadn’t even thought about it. And now it was made, and he didn’t even feel like eating it.

“Well … Er, okay,” Bobby nodded, still looking perplexed. His eyes softened as he looked back up at his best friend, his voice quiet, “How you doin’, Dave?” It could’ve been a polite conversation opener, but the tone of his voice mixed with just knowing Bobby Dawson made David know better than that. He knew what he was asking.

“I’m horrible. Thanks so much for asking. And I’m guessing you aren’t much better,” He remarked harshly, after taking a large gulp of wine. He’d already had a good half of the bottle, and no food, and even without it, he was constantly in a foul mood any ways. It wasn’t like Bobby wasn’t used to his growling, save for this was Bobby’s pain too, Bobby’s heart as well, and that just made David even more angry, much less restrained.

“I’m … I’m not bad,” Bobby admitted timidly. He looked almost guilty, or perhaps a bit ill, and David guessed that he was lying, but it didn’t have the Dawson lie-tell of fidgeting, so perhaps Bobby was just … handling it better than he was. Funny, how when the world fell apart, the man made of iron was the one crushed, and the man made of straw seemed to stand, able to bend. Still, Bobby looked like he hadn’t been eating – or maybe that was just his Russian mother coming through.

“Bobby, have some food. You look terrible,” David murmured, leaning back in his chair.

“You’re one t’ talk. Y’look like you’ve been hit by a bus.” Bobby’s tone was serious, if tinged ever so slightly by sarcasm. He got himself a glass of water, getting one for David as well as he sat in moody silence at the table. “I tell you what. You eat, an’ I’ll eat. Okay?”

He set the glass of water down in front of his friend, taking the glass of wine away. Hodges glared at him, but he released it, allowing the removal of alcohol. What was it about Bobby that made him tolerate him, he wondered. At the moment, it had to be communal misery, and he simply watched at Bobby bustled, busying himself with serving up food and getting himself settled at the empty place setting.

“This looks good,” He said quietly, finally tucking in. Picking up his fork, Bobby looked up to make sure David was doing the same. With a roll of the eyes, the trace technician picked up his fork and stabbed a leaf of lettuce, taking a bite and chewing slowly, looking at his food with a dark glare, as if it was personally insulting him.

They ate in silence. Bobby glanced up now and again just to make sure Hodges was making progress. When he had polished off the last noodle on his plate and David was picking at the last of his piece of bread, Bobby patted his mouth with a napkin, saying politely, “It was good, really.”

“It was cold.”

“Well, y’ probably let it sit fer a while, so, yeah. I’m not surprised.”

David just grunted in response, frowning at the crust in his fingers. Bobby rolled his eyes and stood, clearing his own before moving to take the plate from in front of him. The crust rattled on the plate as David dropped it suddenly, his fingers gripping Bobby’s wrist, freezing it in mid-grab.

“Why are you here, Robert?” David asked quietly, his tone almost dangerous. He was still staring at the wall, but the sound of his voice made Bobby freeze in his tracks.

“Because I wanted t’ see you. T’ make sure you’re doin’ okay, Dave. I’m worried about you. So’s Arch an’ Jacq, and a bunch of the others. I mean, even th’ CSIs are askin’ about you, wonderin’ if you’re okay.”

“If I’m okay?” He hissed, his eyes slitting to look up at Bobby. His grip tightened, although he probably wasn’t aware of it, even when Bobby winced. “If _I’m_ okay? What about _you_ , Bobby? What the hell about _you_? They don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine, but you … “

“Dave,” Bobby whispered, his free hand reaching out to ease David’s hand away from his wrist, “I’ll be okay. I’m survivin’. But you’re … Mopin’. You’re shuttin’ yourself off. You’d been doin’ so good up until … Well, this. Y’can’t let it consume ya.”

Of all the people in Vegas, he had opened up to two, and of those, he had only told his whole story, the entire secret to the one in front of him, his best friend in the world. That he’d left LA a broken man, defeated by prejudice and idiocy, guarded and jaded in so many senses because of it. It had taken nearly six years to get David past those walls, for him to feel comfortable not just with his closest friends, but to become amiable to his coworkers, both lab techs and especially CSIs, considering his history. He had even begun to treat Warrick with a decent amount of civility. But since Greg’s defection, he had withdrawn, further than even the damaged Hodges fresh from LA. Bobby didn’t want to see all that progress fall to pieces just because of some idiotic CSI who couldn’t realize what he had.

He set the dishes down for the moment and knelt next to David’s chair, his eyes large and understanding, “I am hurt, Dave, but … But I just need to know that you’re okay. When you’re just sittin’ here, drownin’ your sorrows in a bottle … “ Frowning at the wine bottle and its negative influence, he stood, picking up David’s plate with the rest and moving swiftly to clear the rest of the dishes into the kitchen before he could be stopped again. “That’s what makes me unhappy, Dave. I don’ want you t’ be alone. Not when you’re feelin’ like this.”

David’s hard blue eyes softened with Bobby’s concern, watching him start up the sink and begin to do the dishes. It hadn’t been much more than a year previous, a little after David and Greg had started seeing each other, that Bobby had, after downing a lot of wine himself, told his best friend that he loved him. Maybe, if circumstances at the time had been different, David could’ve returned the feeling. He knew he’d felt jealous of Henry off the bat, which was strange, especially since he’d been dating Greg for a few months by then.

_“David, y’ gotta knock this shit off!”_

_“What?” He growled, glaring at the door that separated them from the rest of the party. “Be annoyed with someone who rubs me the wrong way? I’m sorry. I can’t change how I react to people just because you’re dating them.”_

_“Bullshit, Dave. That’s not it an’ you know it!” Bobby hissed plaintively, crossing his arms almost as if defending himself against the rebuttal to come. “Y’can’t have me all t’yourself **and** Greg, too! The world doesn’ work that way. **I** don’ work that way. I’ll always be your best friend, but I **like** Henry, goddamnit, an’ y’ gotta stop being so goddamn greedy!”_

_“You know that’s not how it is,” David sniffed, although in truth, that was exactly what he wanted. He just didn’t want to admit it. Why couldn’t it be him and Greg and Bobby as his best friend, the both of them his and only his, forever and ever? Just the three of them … Why couldn’t that be enough for them all?_

Of course, in the end, David alone wasn’t enough for Greg. He wasn’t what Greg wanted at all, it seemed, nor Bobby for Henry. And yet, here Bobby was. Still here. He was always his best friend, always there for him. He was so lost in thought his own voice surprised him.

“Robert.”

Bobby was trying to lose himself in the soap suds. Maybe it was a bad idea, his coming over. It was true, he had loved Henry, but the problem had always been that he’d loved David more. He had always and probably would always love Dave more. Every time Henry had professed his everlasting love and devotion for Bobby, he’d felt a twinge of guilt as he’d returned it, not sure if he was right in returning the sentiment, seeing as he had a stronger claim on his heart.

_"I don't, Bobby. I don't want to be with anyone else. I'm yours. All yours."_

_Henry's words made his heart flutter in his chest. "Nobody else? Ever?" He half asked, half just repeated aloud. Something clicked in his mind then and tugged at his heart. He should say the same. He should be able to. He should feel the same way. Henry was sweet and wanted him and only him but he just couldn't..._

_He cared for Henry very deeply. He loved him he knew that for sure but he couldn't lie to him and tell him that he was the only one he wanted or every wanted to be with._

_He loved David, wanted him ... even though he knew he couldn't have him. There was a difference there - between wanting someone and being able to have them - and he wasn't going to distort that difference so he could lie to Henry._

_"All mine?" He breathed, still holding Henry close._

_But he could give him something else. Something that was the truth._

_"That's a real good thing because... I really do love you, y'know."_

Of course, in retrospect, he shouldn’t have felt guilty. Apparently, Henry’s idea of devotion was not so singular, nor everlasting so eternal – he hoped that Greg didn’t have the same luck there that he’d had. Still, sad though he had been, he hadn’t been crushed, but rather more let down or disappointed than anything else … because in the end, there was always David. Always his best friend, always there to care for and pine for. He, himself was so lost in this train of thought that he didn’t even hear David the first time he spoke. Only when he’d said his name a second time, his voice right near his ear did Bobby finally pull out of his reverie.

“Robert.” David found himself half murmuring in his friend’s ear, telling himself he was looking over his shoulder at the now empty sink, save for water and soapy remnants. Bobby hummed noncommittally, wiping his hands on a towel. “Why are you really here?”

“You know why, Dave,” Bobby said softly, picking up a clean glass and pretending to nonchalantly inspect it for anything he’d missed. David had to know. He knew Bobby as well as Bobby knew him, perhaps better. Bobby knew Dave could read him like a book, and he wasn’t asking the question because he didn’t know the answer.

“Say it.” For some reason, David’s voice sounded slightly raspy, almost desperate, although he wasn’t sure why. He was trying to sound calm and in control, but that wasn’t the way it was coming out. “I need to hear you say it.” He needed to hear someone say it … someone who wasn’t _goddamn_ Greg Sanders.

“It’s because I love you,” Bobby whispered, closing his eyes as he set the glass down, trying not to concentrate on the fact that David was pressing against him, that his arms were slipping around him. Keeping his mind from reading too much into his sorrowful friend’s head resting on his shoulder. His damp hands rested on those embracing arms, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he reiterated.

“I love you, Dave.”

“I … Thank you, Bobby,” David mumbled clumsily into his ear. He wanted to say it back … and he knew he’d mean it. But he didn’t know if he could say it to him, to anyone, for a very long time, without the fear of repetition. Yet, there was that lasting feeling that Bobby would always be there, and he wanted to be able to give into that desire, to say those words.

“O’ course. Anything y’ need, Dave,” Bobby said, almost conversationally. On the spur of a moment, he turned in David’s arms, his hands slipping up to cradle David’s face as he repeated, “Anything, Dave.”

“Anything,” David echoed, distracted by the realization that he had a very warm, very willing other person in his arms. It was as if he was suddenly struck with the realization that he didn’t have to be alone. Or, perhaps it was the realization that he never had been alone. He had always had Bobby. Even now, in the worst of times, Bobby would always be there. Still … something made him hesitate, that seed of doubt planted by betrayal.

“Y’know,” Bobby went on, his voice soft, conspiratorial even as his hands slipped down to smooth his shoulders. “I … I never told you, never told anyone. But … much as I loved Henny, I couldn’t give him my heart. Because it’s always, always belonged t’ you, Dave. It sounds horrible, but … I guess that’s why I haven’t been miserable. I know y’ loved Greg. I c’n understand that. An’ I’m … I’m willin’ t’ wait. I don’t care if it takes you a year t’ get over him, or a hundred years. I’ll be there when y’ decide t’ open up again.”

“Bobby.”

“No, really. I … I could wait f’rever if that’s whatcha need, Dave. I … “

“Bobby. Shut up.”

Bobby looked up from the spot he’d been staring at on David’s chest to find those deep blue eyes piercing him, searching. Perhaps there was a spark of realization, but if there was, Bobby hardly had time to realize it before he found lips pressed to his, causing his own eyes to close, hands straying up into short black hair.

David was sure about one thing in the world, after the rest of it came crashing down. He was sure about Bobby Dawson. Bobby, who had always been there, who would never leave him, ever. Bobby, who was willing to wait as long as it took. And maybe it _would_ take time. But for tonight, at that moment, David needed that support. David needed Bobby.

Of course, Bobby had imagined that first kiss so many ways. David admitting his feelings to him when they had both grown old, some sort of desperate storage closet tangle at work as their hands fumbled when they couldn’t even see each other in the low light, or perhaps even after a night at the bar when they were both drunk enough to let the lines blur. He certainly hadn’t thought it would be like this, a mixture of comfort and sorrow, David clinging to him as if he were the only thing holding him to earth. Not that he truly minded, but he was surprised, perhaps a bit worried, and not responding because of it. Yes, David was pulling back from the world, and he wanted to help with that, but this … this felt like rushing.

“Dave,” Bobby choked softly as their lips finally parted, his brown eyes fluttering open, feeling nearly unable to form the name. His fingers flexed against the other man’s scalp as David brushed his lips against Bobby’s, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to reform words, to grasp exactly what he was trying to get across. “Dave, I … I think that … maybe you … maybe this is too much … “

“Bobby,” David’s voice was low, calm and possibly too collected, considering that the kiss they’d just shared had Bobby’s knees positively weak. “I know you trust me.” Bobby could only nod dumbly at that. “And I know you know I am a sensible man.” Nod again. “I know what I need, Bobby.”

“But, Dave … “

“But, Bobby,” David echoed mockingly, his lips teasing Bobby’s in a way that made the Georgian want to kiss him again and make him breathless. And yet, a moment later, his voice was soft, vulnerable. Bobby had heard that tone only once before, when David had told him something that no one else in Vegas knew.

“You know I care for you very much, Robert. I don’t want to … “ He almost sounded strangled momentarily, tilting his forehead to his friend’s, but he fought it, finally finding the words, “I don’t want to be hurt again … “

“I would never … “

“I know. We say these things, though, and times change. People change,” He murmured, his arms slackening around Bobby to let his hands caress his friend’s sides, eyes downcast. “Greg and Henry said that they … that they loved us each separately, and in the end, they loved each other more. But, then again, Bobby … “

There was a nervous pause and Bobby could feel his breath sticking in his throat again, his ears ringing with the absence of David’s voice, the touch that was now caressing his upper arms making him want to close his eyes again instead of concentrating on what his friend could be trying to tell him. “D … David … “

“But, then, you and I, we really loved each other more than we loved them, didn’t we?”

Bobby could feel his heart stop. Maybe it was the ringing, but he wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. He couldn’t have heard that right. “W … What?”

“Bobby, I didn’t want Henry to have you, the little bastard. Because I wanted you.” David had finally found the vent, air to the truth, and now he wasn’t going to stop it. “I wanted you for myself, I have since … God, since I don’t know when. And then I started going with Greg, and _then_ you felt like telling me … Damn it, Bobby, your timing sucks. And then the whole Henry debacle! Seeing him smile at you, knowing he was touching you, that you were … were _fucking_ him, and I was so goddamn jealous.”

“And you don’t think I wasn’t?” Bobby’s voice was almost anguish as he replied, his hands moving to tighten in David’s shirt. “Dave, every time I watched Greg kiss you, I felt … Fuck, I don’ know what I felt. I wanted t’ push him away and just … scream at him that you were mine. ‘Cept I couldn’t. ‘Cause you weren’t! ‘Cause I was too goddamn late! And poor Henry … ”

“Not poor Henry,” David snarled, dragging him closer, his eyes darkening. “Fuck Henry. Fuck him, and fuck Greg, too. We could’ve escaped all that, you know … if you had said something.”

“If _I_ had said something?” Bobby scoffed, pushing at David’s chest, “What about you? Why couldn’t _you’ve_ said something?”

“Bobby,” David looked disappointed, sounding a bit hurt. “You know what happened to me in LA. I wasn’t about to stick my neck out. Not for anyone. Not even you.”

“Well, why now?”

David’s features turned thoughtful, “I suppose you’re the only thing I have left, Bobby.”

“Don’ say that, Dave. Y’ have plenty of things. Y’ have work, an’ your car, your apartment, Ptolemy, your mom, and lots o’ friends … “

“Save for Ptol, you’re the only one that matters to me, Robert.” His voice was barely audible, and he felt like he was clinging again to Bobby. If anyone else had witnessed him being this vulnerable, he would’ve killed, but that just proved how vital Bobby was to him.

“Don’ say that.”

“I will say it. Because it’s true,” He said and then pressed his lips to Bobby’s again, and this time Bobby reciprocated, kissing him back. Softly at first, then harder, mouths opening and tongues twining, something almost like desperation behind it. They lost themselves in it for a little while, finally able to discover what the other tasted like, felt like. David was enjoying the fact that Bobby’s lips were as soft as they looked, and Bobby was finding that David was warm and smelled faintly of peppermint and soap. Or maybe it was peppermint soap, he wasn’t too sure.

When their lips finally parted again, they were both breathless, dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the heady rush of touching long forbidden fruit. If it was possible, David held Bobby tighter, their cheeks pressing together as they tried collectively to catch their breath.

“Bobby, I don’t want you to leave.”

The underlying suggestion made Bobby’s knees go jello again, although he said weakly, “I don’t want t’ go Dave, but y’ should get some sleep.”

David buried his face in Bobby’s neck, breathing deeply, his fingers balling in Bobby’s dress shirt, “I don’t want to go to bed alone, Dawson.”

There was a silence as Bobby weighed his options. Then he nodded, unable to resist David. It was physically and emotionally impossible for him to deny David anything. Hodges let out a triumphant rumble and reached out, flipping off the kitchen light. Pulling him by the hands, David led Bobby back to the bedroom.

“Let’s hit the hay, then, shall we?” Bobby said quietly, looking at the bed and then David with mounting nervousness.

“Can’t go to bed with all these clothes on,” David murmured, releasing Bobby’s hands and unbuttoning his shirt, his lust-darkened blue eyes glancing up at Bobby in the dim light of the room. Bobby simply watched as the shirt was stripped from him, his pants shortly following. When only his boxers were left, David stepped closer, fingers running along the waistband as he leaned in to lick Bobby’s bottom lip.

“I prefer no clothes, Bobby,” He breathed hotly, eyes catching the hungry brown of his best friend’s, whose lids were drooping low. Bobby nodded dumbly again, his hips barely thrusting against David’s teasing hands. It was enough encouragement for David, who let the boxers go the way of the pants, leaving him a taut, tanned and naked Georgian to run his fingers over.

Bobby tried to distract himself from the feel of those roaming digits by removing David’s clothes, a certain eagerness to feel skin against skin driving him on, shirt and then pants finding the floor. Still, David’s murmurs made his eyes flutter closed, his hands pausing against David’s stomach as the other man found his ear.

“Glaza boyatsya,” David muttered, smirking, his hands wrapping around to grasp at Bobby’s firm ass cheeks to squeeze. He knew the effect of being a polyglot had on certain people, and especially his native Russian on Bobby Dawson. “A ruki delayut.”

“God, Dave,” Bobby whimpered, his hands suddenly urgent on getting his boxers off and away. Then he pressed his lips into the other man’s, causing David to growl softly and himself to whimper again, Bobby’s hands wrapping around the trace tech’s shoulders. He followed as David coaxed him backwards, let his knees bend as he was lowered to the bed.

It continued in a haze, David touching Bobby’s cock for the first time and the first true moan of David’s name, shuddering and perfect. Bobby gaining the courage to touch David as well and savoring the growled moan he received in return. Somehow, from somewhere, lubrication was produced, and Bobby was reduced to an absolute mess as David prepared him. Fingers delved deep inside him, two and then three, Bobby’s fingers pawing at the sheets as he fought for purchase against that lovely invasion.

When fingers pulled away, Bobby groaned with disappointment, his legs wrapping up around David’s waist with a hungry eagerness. David chuckles and grumbled about patience, pushing one of his new lover’s legs away, which Bobby thought absolutely ridiculous. However, he was pacified by the beautiful sight of David stroking himself with that lubed hand, those blue eyes fluttering closed with his own hot touch, and Bobby wanted it to be him to make David’s eyes close.

“Daaaave,” Bobby whined impatiently, his hips bucking upwards so that his cock brushed against David’s length and that pumping hand, making them both groan.

“Robert,” David’s voice was stern and growling, “If you don’t … behave, I may have to punish you. Now shut up.”

Even though Bobby shivered at the suggestion of a punishment, wondering if he’d like it even better than what they were already doing, he hardly had time to cease his activities as David guided that thick tip to his opening. Bobby’s back arched as David pressed inside, burying himself in one deep, quick thrust that had them both panting and moaning. Bobby’s legs were wrapping firmly around David’s waist this time, and there was little the dark-haired man could do about it. All he could do, caught up as he was in the sensation of Bobby’s tightness, was begin to thrust.

Bobby whimpered encouragements as he writhed beneath David, wanting to savor an experience he had thought he never would have. David was making him all his, and whether his new lover wanted it or not, Bobby now belonged to him, body and soul. The amazing sex was just the sealing of the deal. Exclamations of love and babbled devotion intermingled with the descriptions of delight and the pleading of not stopping, Bobby not caring any longer what slipped past his lips. David knew, he knew how much he loved him and wanted him, had loved him all this time. And now they were consummating it, and it was as earthshaking as Bobby could’ve hoped, his back arching as David complied with his begging for more, the headboard already clapping against the wall.

David clung to Bobby, panting and growling half-formed thoughts and words against his best friend’s lips. There was no longer any barrier between them, even in the most literal sense, and it was like someone had flipped a switch inside David. Something that made him realize that this was better, that this was perfect. How Bobby felt was perfect, tight and hot and how they fit together so perfectly, Bobby’s strong arms around his neck, Bobby’s timid whimpering voice pleading for more, for more of him. How could anyone deny Bobby Dawson anything? He had, when his principals had told him he had to, because Greg was there, in a sense in the way. And Greg had been what he wanted, just like Henry was what Bobby had wanted, to a point. But they neither of them could’ve had this, the most intimate of couplings when the two involved knew absolutely everything about the other, even the most deep, dark parts of their souls.

Bobby knew what had happened to David in LA, and he also knew what it would do to David if he turned his hips slightly and thrust back on him the right way. Just as David knew that Bobby had always loved him, even when he was promising undying love to Henry, and David also knew how much Bobby would like it if he leaned in and bit down on his neck hard, his eyeteeth breaking the skin ever so slightly. The taste of Bobby’s blood in his mouth made David groan, his hips thrusting even harder than before.

Bobby cried out, the sensation of being bitten on top of being taken so expertly making it near impossible for him. After a few more moments of David sucking on that bite mark, his hand stroking Bobby’s cock firmly between them, Bobby’s orgasm took him hard, coming all over David’s chest and his own. No man could take Bobby Dawson tightening down on him, and although Bobby might protest against him being anything other than a sex god, David was but a man, and lasted only a few more thrusts, shoving himself deep into Bobby as he came, repeating his lover’s name over and over as he slowly collapsed to one side, his arms clutching around him.

Breathing slowed, sweating and heart rates became more normal before two pairs of eyes opened again, bright blues finding sleepy browns. Bobby smiled sweetly, his whole world doused in syrup as he slowly reached up and ran a hand fondly through that short black hair.

“Feel better?”

“I always feel better when you’re around, Robert,” David breathed, his look reaffirming his absolute fondness for his friend. He drove it home with a kiss, sweet and caring and absolutely perfect. Bobby rubbed his upper arm, smiling into the kiss.

“Good,” He breathed finally when their lips parted. He reached out, pulling bedsheets over them and curled into David, very ready to pass out into the sweet sea of sleep.

“Bobby,” David’s voice was hardly audible, buried into his shoulder again as he was.

It made Bobby raise his eyebrows slightly, whispering, “Yes, Dave?”

“I love you.”

It was all Bobby Dawson had ever wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a present for an old friend and writing partner. An AU of an AU in a way, this fic was based off two characters we were playing in a now long extinct RP.


End file.
